Summary: A young librarian in Virginia City shares her story through her diary, including being smitten with one of the Cartwright brothers. This story has been incorporated into the Captain Cartwright/Home is the Sailor series. However, this is the original story. Part of the Bonanza Trailriders Legacy.

Rating: G, Word Count: 4824

Miss Tyndale’s Diary

 

Journal entry …May 16th 1863

My most treasured possession ..perhaps I shouldn’t admit to that; it sounds rather sad that at my time of life I look upon my journal as my most treasured possession. However, that is how it is and it arrived today safely from my home in Pittsburgh. My Aunt must have found it and realized, being a kind of kindred spirit, that I was missing it, so, having written a swift note of thanks and reassuring her of its safe delivery, I have spent a pleasant hour or so reacquainting myself of its contents.

Well, here I am now, Amelia Tyndale, and tomorrow I start my employment as assistant Librarian to Mr Abraham Liebnitz. All those miles away my family are pursuing their own lives never realizing just how much my life is different from theirs, nor could they ever conceive of the fact that from my modest home, busy town, polluted atmosphere, I now live in what the novels refer to as ‘the wild west’.

Actually I am not sure just how wild the west is here in Virginia City, it seems to be calming down with the newly erected buildings going up everywhere I look, and the cabins and tents that existed cheek by jowl being dismantled although there are still more of them than could ever imagine, and still stretching as far as the eye could see as men constantly work at their allotted diggings.

I was speaking to Mr Samuel Clemens yesterday – a so-called newspaper reporter – and asked him what exactly he hoped to write in his journal. He referred to it as a newsheet, and was very proud of it too. He and another man, who goes by the nom-de-plume of Daniel deQuille, are going to print off all the events that take place in town. He said he was going to change his name to Mark Twain and hoped to become famous one day.

However, I doubt it. He and Mr deQuille spend far too much of their time merry making to make a name for themselves in anything other than how much beer and whiskey they could consume in 24 hours. But it did make me smile to think, to imagine, that someone from this bustling crazy place could write a book that I may one day place on the shelves of our library.

I say our library…I feel possessive of it already and am quite nervous at the thought of taking my place beside Mr Liebnitz who has worked so hard, along with his wife, to get such a fine building here on what will become the Main Street of town.

Mr Clemens said I should celebrate with a little merry making of my own…but, honestly, I, a single woman, drinking along with them? Such a breach in propriety indeed! To be sure I am nervous enough as it is, and doubt that the drinks served in the Bucket of Blood would be of any benefit for my nerves. He did say that he would be writing a welcome to the new Assistant Librarian and said, with a twinkle in his eye, that before I know it I could be The Librarian very soon. I blushed at the thought and shook my head but he then said ‘You never know, life is cheap in a place like this.’

I did meet a young man as I left the office (!) of the newspaper. A tall young man in a red shirt and those denim pants that are so popular with the miners. I mistook him for a miner too…but he was very polite and it turned out that he was in fact Adam Cartwright, the eldest son of Ben Cartwright of the Ponderosa. I was very impressed with him as I saw he had a leather bound book in his hand which he was actually reading – hence his reason for bumping into me. After introductions he said how pleased he was to see that Mr Liebnitz had employed an assistant at last.

“The demand for books has grown with the population.” he said and smiled – well, I am a spinster but even so, those dimples and those brown eyes did make my head whirl, almost as though I had indulged in some merry making all morning.

“I can’t see miners wanting books, any more than they would be interested in a newsheet,” I replied with a toss of my head in the direction of Mr Clemens who was lounging against the doorpost and grinning at me.

“Oh don’t underestimate those miners, Miss -”

“Tyndale – Amelia.”

“Miss Tyndale. There are many a scholar among them, teachers, professors, men of all professions, all of whom enjoy the feel of a good book in their hands to read when they have the time.”

“Then what,” I said trying to sound very pragmatic “are they doing grubbing about out there.”

He just smiled, those dimples again, oh dear, and said “Searching for a dream, Miss Tyndale. And as you know, everyone should have a dream to pursue, don’t you agree?”

He walked away then to talk to Mr Clemens, but he was right, after all, isn’t that why I’m here…chasing dreams of my own?

 

Journal entry…May 29th 1863

Strange the things one overhears when lingering in town. I have to admit that I do tend to linger a little longer than I should whenever I see Adam Cartwright in town. There is such an intensity about him that its rather like a magnet that draws me towards him. But today there seems to be friction in the air because he was standing there talking to his father and brother, Hoss.

I overheard him saying something about the family honor…did it mean more than …I think he said justice, perhaps not, but he seemed very angry about something.

I had heard rumors, well, I suppose gossip, amazing how people enjoy a gossip when selecting a book in the library, anyway, it appears that Adam Cartwright is accusing a man called Bill Enders (a sly piece of works if you ask me, smarmy – you know the kind I mean) of robbing and killing the old man Toby, who runs the depot at Goat Springs.

Mrs Hawkins (an English woman who reads the most scandalous novels ) told me that Adam Cartwright was going to take the ride from Goat Springs Station to Virginia City to prove Bill Enders a liar, and a killer. Mrs Hawkins said that he’d do it too, Adam Cartwright would, because when he sets his mind to a thing he goes all out to achieve it.

I think she is right but that ride… still, it shows how highly he esteems a man’s life, and in a way although he was talking about family honor, he is proving himself to be a very honorable man in his attempt to gain justice for old Toby.

I so hope he achieves what he is aiming for with this ride…I remember reading Shakespeare drama in which Flagstaff (actually rather like Toby to look at I imagine) talks about honor, a whole soliloquy on the subject in which he dismisses it as nothing worth dying for…perhaps I should remind Adam Cartwright about that if he makes the ride safely.

 

Journal entry … June 21st 1863

I woke up from a dream to the sound of rain on the windows. I used to love the sound of rain but here in Virginia City it makes life more than a little difficult. It is bad enough for ladies to have to avoid the piles of horse dung as it is, but when it rains it all just seeps into a kind of slurry over the roads. It clings to ones boots, or shoes, and the hems of ones skirts, no matter how high one lifts one skirts contact seems unavoidable.

I am hoping that some sensible men will put down duckboards so that we can walk across on them, like a drawbridge over a castles’ moat, although I doubt a moat ever contained as much muck as Virginia City’s roads.

I try to recapture my dream. I like to do this and then analyze why I had it, what thoughts in my head had brought about the dream. I close my eyes and allow myself to drift back in memory to …being on a train.

Yes, that’s right, I was on a train. Not the usual kind of train though. This was a hospital train taking injured men from the field of battle to where they could be treated safely, or where they could return home to recover, or to die. I am walking down the corridor with Ben Cartwright striding behind me demanding that he see his son.

“I have received notification that he was in Virginia. There was fighting …the cable said he was injured.”

He keeps on saying that over and over, that he had to find him, before he lost him forever. I was not able to say anything, my heart thumping in my breast at the thought of Adam Cartwright being injured and that his father was here on this train, wanting to see him before he died.

I recall in my dream that I was wondering how Ben had got onto the train in Virginia so quickly, all the way from Virginia City too. I stop a doctor who looks like a younger version of Paul Martin and ask him if he has seen a man called Adam Cartwright and he nods and tells us to follow him.

We follow him to a carriage where there are beds filled with the bodies of injured and dying men. The smell is terrible, far worse than the dungy streets of Virginia City after the rain. He leads us to the far corner where a man lies silent and grave.

“This is Adam Cartwright” he tells us and then as in all dreams he just disappears.

Adam Cartwright opens his eyes … he has large brown eyes, honey colored sometimes, I had noticed that when we exchanged books in the library. He looks up at the roof of the carriage and Ben steps forward and takes hold of the bandaged hands, “Son, it’s me, it’s Pa.”

Adam didn’t answer him. He just stares up at the roof of the carriage as the train shunts along the rails and we sway back and forth with its motion. A man screams in torment and I see how Adam flinches as though the man’s pain is his own. I realize now that I am wearing a nurse’s uniform and Ben is looking at me as though I have the answers to all his questions so I look down at the papers I have and flick through them until I find Adam’s name and then tell him “Multiple bullet wounds. Burns to the body.” I find another entry that brings tears to my eyes, and look at Ben who is staring at me as though daring me to withhold any information so I say as firmly as I can “Blind.”

“Blind?” Ben says and glares at me as though it was all my fault and I know that I should not be there, I should be in the library in town and I look down at Adam Cartwright who now turns his head in the direction of his father and smiles, a weary smile as though even that takes so much effort. “Son? It’s Pa” Ben repeats and I have a desire to tell him that his son is blind, not deaf but then Adam nods, closes his eyes,

“Hello Pa,” he says very quietly “It’s good to – “ he pauses and heaves in a sigh “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I read about the battle, son. I came as soon as I got the cable.”

Again in my dream I ask myself how he got here so fast. But dreams are illogical things, aren’t they? The Battle of Winchester took place on June 15th where the Confederate army under command of Richard Ewell * trapped a division of Union troops in the town of Winchester. General Robert Milroy was unable to lead his men to freedom and as a result 6000 were captured or killed. Adam Cartwright and the men in the train had managed to escape, despite their wounds. I wonder how many had died along the way to the train.

But then again it is all bits and pieces, dreams are like that…they pick out random pieces and I recall reading the account of the battle while seated in the library in town. But that was – well – as I say everything in a dream is mixed up.

I look down at the injured man and start to bathe his brow, cleaning around his neck, removing the stains of warfare from his handsome features while Ben looks on and Adam says very quietly “The bullets came down like rain, just like rain.”

That was when I woke up to the sound of rain on the windows, thinking of the mud and thinking of how handsome Adam Cartwright was – in my dream. Is – in reality.

A new day dawns, perhaps later there will be a rainbow.

 

July 25th 1863

It’s hot today and reminded me of the day my parents and siblings arrived in San Francisco. It wasn’t the sprawling city it is today by any means and I can remember being very frightened by all the noise and the different smells that came from all directions all at once, bombarding one’s senses to such an extent that it made me feel as though if the ground opened me up and swallowed me whole, I was sure no one would notice.

How small and young I was then. I can still remember the way Father lifted me up from the back of the wagon and placed my feet on the ground.

“Now don’t you go running off by yourself.” he said and laughed because he knew I was the last one to go chasing off anywhere by myself. Instead I stayed close by Mother who was standing beside the wagon looking around her with big eyes and her mouth open as though amazed at the sight of the place. I remember now realizing that my mother was frightened too, probably had been ever since we left home.

A man came by carrying a big wicker basket full of clean linen. He was Chinese and looked at us as he passed, then stopped and approached us very civilly I thought …

“You lost? Need help maybe?”

That was the first time I ever saw a man from China, and the first meeting I had with Hop Sing.

That was a long time ago now. San Francisco, like myself, has grown older and more stately. But even now, Wagon loads of families, or hopeful couples still arrive here in Virginia City, lost and needing help.

I watch them from my bedroom window and see how they clamber down to look around them, that same lost but hopeful look on their faces. It still makes me smile the way my Mother asked Hop Sing if he could recommend a good hotel that provided clean sheets on their beds and he nodded and smiled, and said to follow him.

My Father had been annoyed and had asked her why she had asked such a foolish question but she said the sight of the linen in the basket had made her long for clean bed sheets, something she reminded Father she hadn’t enjoyed for months.

I wondered how many of the new arrivals longed for clean bed sheets when they arrived here.

I reached out to close the window and paused at the sight of four horsemen threading their way through the traffic. Even now the traffic built up in our town. The Cartwrights. Ben in the lead, even relaxed he looked grim to me. A handsome man but I always thought ruthless and arrogant. I suppose he had to be to have carved out such an empire as the Ponderosa.

Hoss and Joe came next, their horses prancing light footed down the road as though they too knew all about upholding the Cartwright honor. Then came Adam …he was the eldest son. He was such a handsome man … a man, not a boy like Little Joe. I could weave dreams about him from which I would not want to wake from…not ever.

When they dismounted I watched them go their separate ways, Ben to the Sheriff’s office no doubt to catch up with news from Mr Coffee. The three younger men headed for the saloon. I followed them until they were swallowed up by the dark interior of the Sazarac.

I glanced at the clock…time was ticking along and I had to get to the library because there was every chance that Adam Cartwright would call in today, and the book of poetry he requested was already there waiting for his arrival.

Happy day !!

 

22nd September 1863

If there was ever a more sour faced woman alive it would be Abigail Jones. The first time I saw her I remembered my mother once saying of a neighbor that her face was so sour it would turn milk! I didn’t understand what she meant then, but I do now….

Abigail Jones sailed into the library one morning like a ship in full sail. She shook my employer by the hand and then nodded looking like vinegar over at me. I forced a smile after all the library should be a welcoming place to everyone.

Yes, I thought to myself, you’re not old enough to have tasted real misery in your life, but somewhere or other, something or someone has certainly turned you to thinking joy and pleasure were the ultimate sins. Anyway, she sailed along, looking for various books and then thumped them down on the counter with a thud. I pointed to the sign saying ‘Silence please’.

As it happened the sound drew the attention of one of my other customers – Adam Cartwright. He had been sitting at one of the tables reading a book of poetry, that young man just loved poetry. His father had gone to see the sheriff about some recent trouble they had had with Little Joe and he had decided that this time he would opt out.

I loved having him there, we didn’t talk much of course (‘Silence, please’) but knowing he was there, enjoying something that I myself loved, just made the time special to me. I felt I was sharing moments doing something I enjoyed with someone I would enjoy being with, and I was, I mean, I was with him…just that not really in a social setting you understand?

Well, he got up and strolled over to the counter and looked at me, raised his eyebrows in the way that always sets my heart racing and then looked at the school teacher, Abigail Jones.

I saw it happen. Right there before my very eyes. They had obviously not met before and so he very quietly introduced himself, extended his hand to shake hers and that was all it took…she fell hook, line and sinker for him. That sour face softened and those gimlet eyes went all large and limpid, and that tight little mouth parted into a soft full lipped smile.

I could have hit her. She simpered “Abigail Jones. School teacher…”

He didn’t say anything else, just nodded and then looked at me, arched one brow which nearly made me giggle because it was like he was saying “Ouch” and we were sharing a secret. She was still standing there with the books clutched to her chest when he walked out, tipping his hat to us both, but smiling and looking at me. Well, I hope he was looking at me ….

 

January 11th 1864

Snow had already been falling in parts of the country but had yet to reach our territory. We did have some earlier, in December, but now in January it was wet and windy. The wind sent rain drops down our necks, finding the gaps between skin and clothing so that it sent shivers throughout our bodies.

Mr Liebnitz had given me permission to attend a public auction. He said that there could possibly be some books for sale as the majority of items to be sold off came from a wealthy merchant . I had never met the man, but Mr Liebnitz said that the Merchant had actually possessed a large private library so would obviously not need to come to the public one. I wasn’t sure why not, after all we had a quite wonderful selection of reading materials. I concluded that this wealthy merchant had been a snob!

I pulled on my ’rubbers’ in order to slosh through the mud, and the ordure which would, I know, have collected in the puddles. Horses dropped dung wherever they liked and there was no point in complaining, it was part of life here in Virginia City. The rain was coming down fast now and I had to hurry across the duck boards placed over the road for those who wished to avoid the worst of the slimy mud

I noticed the Cartwrights arrive…Adam Cartwright was wearing his tan jacket with the collar turned up in the hope that it would stop the rain soaking him, but Mr Cartwright was wearing a tarp, as was Joe while Hoss had on his odd looking brown coat. I liked to watch them when they came into town, especially Adam. He had – oh I don’t know – just whatever it was that he had appealed to me, very much, as a woman.

They separated and my heart leapt at seeing Adam striding to the Hall where the Auction was being held. I smiled to myself, and knew that it must have been the thought of those books that had been the hook to lure him there. I wondered what bargain he would be looking for, and with that thought in mind I hurried, head down, to the Hall and pushed my way through the door.

There were a good number of people already in attendance. I noticed Adam take a seat, he sat beside a man and woman, a couple I had seen before in town. Newly weds, Ross and Delphine Marquette. I thought it was a pretty name, Delphine Marquette. But then she was pretty too, and the smile she gave Adam indicated they were on good terms with him.

I sneaked into the chair behind them. Adam didn’t even notice my presence, but I was oh so aware of him being there…I watched the way he sat, the way he crossed one leg over the other, the way he removed his hat and smoothed back his hair so that the curls brushed against the collar of his coat. It was a distraction I suppose, so I missed some of the Lots that were being auctioned off.

I hadn’t had time to actually look over the books that were going to be sold. But when Mr Higgins held up several leather bound first Edition books of poetry I put up my hand and then noticed…so did Adam Cartwright. So I put my hand down again.

The next Lot was a selection of books grouped as Science/Botany/Nature but when Mr Higgins opened some of them…the pictures were wonderful. I actually gasped at the color, at the way they were presented. They were beautiful. I didn’t know if they would be suitable for the public library, but goodness me, I would love to have them in my own. My hand shot up and I called out a figure. Adam Cartwright’s hand rose and he bettered my offer. That happened twice and then he turned to look over his shoulder at me, and smiled.

I slid lower in my seat, and swallowed, smiled back and tried to avoid the look in those dark brown eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, “Seems we’re bidding for the same lot.”

“Seems so, Mr Cartwright.” I replied, “But – “

Mr Higgins yelled out “Any advance on Mr Cartwright’s last offer? It’s a bargain…these books could sell for three times the price if you ordered them from New York book sellers.” and he stared right at me

“Aren’t you going to make a bid,” Adam said, smiled again, and I thought how he was teasing me and lowered my eyes.

I could feel heat rising from under my collar and so wanted to raise my hand again but found I couldn’t…and then the hammer came down “Sold to Adam Cartwright. Well done, sir, you have a real bargain there.” Higgins grinned “Cheap at the price, sir.”

Adam turned from me and nodded, his foot swung back and forth, he balanced his hat on his knee and now his fingers began to tap impatiently on his thigh. I watched the next lot come up, books about the human anatomy…that didn’t appeal to either myself or Adam. The next lot were Shakespeare’s plays, beautifully leather bound, tooled in gold. I put in a bid, Adam Cartwright did too. We were both beaten by Miss Jones, who flashed a smile of triumph in our direction ..or perhaps…in Adam’s. They were beautiful books, and I wished more than ever that I had been able to get them.

One more lot, three books about the War of Independence. Mr Higgins held them up and they were very plain modest books, bound in maroon leather. I put in a bid, no one else was interested. Adam Cartwright yawned, flexed his shoulders, smiled at Ross Marquette and raised his eyebrows. Mr Higgins brought down the hammer. Three plain maroon leather books were now mine.

Later I held them in my hands and wondered what I was going to do with three books on the War of Independence which had no appeal to me whatsoever. I was frowning down at them when I was aware of Adam standing before me, a smile on his face.

“I’m sorry about these -” he raised a hand, the beautiful books with the copper place drawings tantalizingly close, “I really couldn’t resist them…and you have to admit they were going at a very fair price.”

“I had set a limit on what I could afford…” I stammered.

He nodded and looked down at the three books and picked one up, then I noticed his eyebrows rise up, his eyes widen and he whistled “Would you look at that …” he said and then smiled down at me and pointed to the wording on the flyleaf

“To my good friend, Matthew

May you enjoy every good fortune in the years ahead

Thank you for being at my side during the worst of times

George Washington…”

“Seems to me you got yourself a real bargain, Miss Tyndale…” he frowned and shook his head, “Well, that teaches me a lesson … “

“What lesson is that?” I asked as I took back the book he had taken from me, and still I secretly envied him the lovely ones he had purchased.

“Did you ever read The Merchant of Venice?” his brown eyes twinkled and he smiled, and I nodded (I would have done even if I hadn’t, something hypnotic about those eyes) “Remember how Portia set before her suitors the choice of three boxes..” he placed his hand upon his chest and gazed at me, smiled and quoted in his rich voice so that those close by stopped to listen….

“The first, of gold, who this inscription bears,

‘Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire;’

The second, silver, which this promise carries,

‘Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;’

This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,

‘Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.’

Applause, Ross Marquette slapped him on the back and told him he should have been an actor, he grinned “Those were actually Portia’s lines…but the point is…Had I waited for the more modest selection of the books, then I would have gained the greater prize, the better bargain.”

I shook my head, an attempt really to bring myself back to reality, Mrs Marquette was speaking to Adam, saying something flattering that made Adam throw back his head and laugh. I sighed and as I clutched my books to my chest turned and walked away, words drifted through my mind….

You that choose not by the view,

Chance as fair and choose as true!

Since this fortune falls to you,

Be content and seek no new,

If you be well pleased with this

And hold your fortune for your bliss,

I paused at the door and looked behind me, the real bargain, the best bargain would have been if he had sealed it all…with a kiss.

Finis